Footnotes
by Oreramar
Summary: These short stories are the footnotes of the legends of Mossflower Wood. They run the gambit from silly, to serious, to speculative. So when you need a break from all of those epic adventures, here is a place for you.
1. Who says that I am dead

An otter steps out onto the stage, shuffling papers around in her paws as she walks. At the midpoint, she faces the audience, clears her throat, and reads off her disclaimer.

"_I, Aelin Wordsmith, also known here as Oreramar, once known here as Eruravenne, do not own any recognizable aspect of Redwall, Mossflower, Salamandastron, or any of the surrounding lands. This includes but is not limited to beast-names, place-names, any other names, the beasts and places themselves, or the concept of a forest-full of walking, talking, fighting, and otherwise human-like animals. These various things belong to one Brian Jaques._

"_Please note that I do own something called the '_Otherpath Theory_' by right of creation. If you understand and like the theory, and wish to use it as a part of your own story, please contact me first. _

"_I might also own various made-up and original characters, places, or objects, though in all honesty this does not count as much as all of these will end up being part of the places and/or concepts that I have already said I do not own._

"_Should I ever use the alter-ego of another person on this site, rest assured I have that person's permission to do so._

"_This disclaimer is meant to be sufficient for the entirety of this story or collection of stories."_

The otter looks up from her papers to see the audience staring blankly at her. She grins sheepishly and edges away. "Sorry about the length of that. Don't worry; this is the last time you'll see it here. Enjoy the show!"

* * *

A/N: Please realize that this is not meant to be one large, connected tale. It is a collection of 'footnotes' in the world of Redwall – little tidbits I wrote that range from silly to serious to speculative. In time, this might include everything from plausible between-scenes anecdotes to wildly distorted alternate universe scenes. If you have a request for a mini-story, let me know in a review. I'll see what I can do with it…just keep them simple, yes?

* * *

**Word Count: **452

**Category: **General/Supernatural

'**Who says that I am dead, knows not at all…'**

Martin the Warrior stared incredulously at the wall before him. It stretched blank and smooth in both directions, faintly reflecting both the light of torches and that of the moon through a high window in the Abbey wall. A large, rectangular area directly in front of him was furred with seasons of dust. At the mouse's feet, a large piece of cloth lay crumpled, its bright colors shining in the small circle of illumination around the warrior.

He raised a paw and ran it as lightly as possible over the stones, never really touching them, but coming close.

"You can't be serious," he whispered. "In one night? With me…like this?"

The mouse warrior did not expect an answer, and he did not get one. The area remained silent and still except for the flickering of torches set nearby. He knew what he had to do. With a barely audible sigh, Martin raised a hammer and a chisel. He set the flat end of his tool against the stone.

One gentle tap, and the tip of the chisel sank into the rock as though it was butter.

Taking heart from the ease of that first chip, Martin began to hammer out his message. Though the blows rang in his ears, they never reached those of the sleeping beasts all around the abbey. One by one, letters bit deep into the sturdy rock: _W-h-o s-a-y-s t-h-a-t I a-m d-e-a-d…_

By dawn, the work was finished. Though the carvings had been crisp and deep at first, they quickly seemed to age, wearing down as though they had been present for centuries. Dust remained spread over them as it was spread over the rest of the wall; Martin's paws had never once disturbed it.

Satisfied, Martin dropped the chisel and hammer into a bag at his side and picked up the cloth on the ground. The woven patterns on it seemed to move with the changing light. For a long moment, he stared intently at the armored mouse depicted in the lower corner. Then Martin raised his arms and re-hung the tapestry over the poem he carved in that single night. Pausing again, he raised a paw in salute to the mouse on the tapestry, seeing both himself and another in the woven figure holding his father's sword.

"_I—am that is, my sword will wield for me. _Use it well, Matthias," he said. Then, as quickly and quietly as Martin arrived hours earlier, he vanished.

In the new dawn light already streaming into the Hall, the tapestry appeared to move a little, as quiet as a sigh.

'_Who says that I am dead, knows not at all. I—am that is, two mice within Redwall.'_

* * *

I've always wondered about something particular in the books. In _Redwall_, they discover the Matthias-Martin poem under the tapestry. However, some of the books written later were set earlier, and in some of those the tapestry is removed for one reason or another. Never are carved words mentioned.

This little bit of writing tries to explain why. Not very realistic, but sort of fun.


	2. Silent

A/N: I already had this written, so I thought I might as well put it up right away. This thing isn't supposed to be sticking to a regular update schedule anyhow; why wait a week?

**Word Count: **473

**Category: **General

**Silent**

Even as a baby, Samuel Squirrel understood the value of words. Something in his tiny mind and heart knew they were precious, and he treated them the way any baby treated something precious: he held them close and tight to himself. His mouth, the one gateway to that treasure, he learned to lock by occupying it with his paw. Soon this custom earned him a new name: Silent Sam.

As Sam grew, he kept his ears open, learning new words to add to his treasure hoard. He delighted in listening to the stored sounds over and over. He mixed them, re-arranged them, and soon discovered that they could be used for one very exciting thing.

Words could tell stories.

Of course, Sam knew that stories were told in words – _every_beast knew _that_! But Sam had never before known that he could take words – _his_ words – and use them to record, in his mind, everything that happened nearby.

The discovery thrilled him. He could use his precious words and make new things from them! They could mirror the beauty outside, capture it and hold it in his mind for him. From then on, Sam tended his growing treasury more seriously than ever before. He learned to communicate with others through motion and expression, so he would not waste his prized sounds. His creativity served him well; only rarely did Silent Sam fail to get his point across.

Then, one season, he met Mattimeo.

The mousebabe was tiny, though it was already many days old; all Sam could see at first was the blanket with a short, pale snout rising above it. He looked at the infant, still sucking at his paw, and cocked his head.

Now what word could describe this, he wondered. Small? Helpless? No, no…those wouldn't do at all…

Suddenly the baby stirred in his mother's arms. Then he opened his eyes. Huge in its little face, they shone dark and solemn up at Sam. The open, striking expression of the infant invited the squirrel to do something he had never done before.

Sam unlocked his mouth. He found his word-treasury. He selected some of his best pieces. And then he let them out as a gift.

"Baby. Beautiful. Mattimeo."

The surprise in the room was nothing against the surprise inside of Sam. He gave those words, expecting to have to gather new ones later. He thought that, once said, the words would never return, like nuts eaten in the winter.

But they were still there.

"Beautiful, baby, Mattimeo," he murmured to himself. Yes. They still existed inside him. On a sudden whim, Sam – no longer Silent – whirled his words into positions long practiced and began to tell the little mousebabe his story.

Words _were_ precious, he thought even as he spoke. Always had been. But they were better shared with another.


	3. Matthias' Task

**Word Count:** 465

**Category:** Humor

**Matthias' Task**

Matthias glared warily at the thing on the table. Not willing to take his eyes off of it for even a moment, he reached a paw behind him and fumbled about on the shelf at his back for anything that might help. He only found a few clean squares of cloth, folded and put there by Cornflower in one of her cleaning moods. Carefully, he took a few and shook them open at his side, risking a quick glance down to check their size.

They would do.

The mouse took several deep breaths and his eyes flickered longingly up to his sword – the Warrior's sword – which hung on the wall across the room. It would not help him at all in this situation, but Matthias still wished it was with him. He'd feel a lot safer, more comfortable with its dangerous weight at his side.

He was stalling for time, and he knew it. Perhaps that thing, that horrible new opponent before him knew it too, because it suddenly let out a shrill, drawn-out sound that hurt his ears. It moved, and a vicious wave of some awful odor rolled out to Matthias' poor, sensitive nose.

Matthias clamped a paw around his muzzle and waited for the worst of the smell to fade away out the open window. The notion of escape through that window tickled the edge of his mind for a moment...

No. Cornflower would kill him, and he knew it. He had to face this one down alone.

The thing wailed again.

Alone, and as quickly as possible.

Taking his eyes off of it, Matthias turned his nose toward the window and took several deep breaths of fresh air, knowing that these could be his last such breaths for quite a while if something went wrong.

_I'd rather face Asmodeus again..._

Before his courage could fail him completely, Matthias whipped open his cloth and dove toward the table.

He held his breath for as long as possible, then resorted to quick, shallow pants through his mouth in an effort to avoid the horrible reek that surrounded him. Matthias moved so fast that his paws blurred before his eyes...or perhaps that was simply due to the tears welling up in them as both ears and nose took a battering from the howling, stench-ridden thing he had to deal with.

Seconds later, the clean cloth was tied off securely, and Matthias dashed back to the window for air. Clean, fresh, wonderful air.

The thing on the table was done howling, and now gurgled happily. Matthias grimaced, both at it and at the thought of what he would have to do with the _other_ cloth, the soiled one.

"I never asked for this," he moaned to the world in general.

Behind him, baby Mattimeo smiled.


	4. The Sword Carrier

**Word Count: **469

**Category:** General (_Alternate Universe Warning)_

**The Sword Carrier**

Mariel didn't know exactly who Martin the Warrior was, not being native to Redwall, but her opinion of the long-deceased mouse wasn't quite as high as that of her companions. He may have helped found the mighty Abbey. He may have been a brave and ferocious fighter. He may have saved Mossflower. But Mariel had to wonder if being dead so long had done something to his mind.

If, that is, the ghost of Martin really did send blind old Simeon a vision. If he really did choose the Sword Carrier.

Perhaps it was all a hallucination on Simeon's part.

Mariel shook her head and settled to watching the Abbey creatures across the campfire. Tarquin was doubled over his harolina, faint notes and words drifting over the crackle of flame on wood. The other two were obviously waiting for the hare to finish composing yet another short song for their entertainment. The young mousemaid's mind wandered back to the day's events.

They had successfully crossed the river earlier, avoiding both the pike and the 'sticklegs'. Mariel had to admit that without her companions, she would probably have died there. They had quick minds and good memories, especially the hedgehog and mouse. Even in a fight, they had remembered and understood that first verse in the directions.

Still, Martin's young champion seemed awkward out there. He was uncertain when to draw the great sword, how to hold it, what to do with it. If not for his well-delivered warning about being the Sword Carrier, and a fairly convincing threat spoken along with it, Iraktaan might not have stopped fighting. Mariel had to wonder what would happen should a real battle occur, what he would do when faced with searats. They would not back off before a sword and a grand-sounding title and a threat.

As she mused, Mariel became aware of someone standing before her. She looked up into the face of the young mouse. He held out a roll of bread and some cheese to her.

"I wondered...um, if you might be hungry. So..."

Mariel took the food to spare him any more stammering. "Thanks."

"Not a problem."

Silence, broken only by Tarquin's harolina.

"Um...Tarquin said we ought to take watches...just in case. He's taking first. Would you prefer second, or should I...?"

"I'll take second watch, and wake you for the third," Mariel said, finishing off the bread and brushing crumbs from her paws.

"Oh. All right, then."

Mariel sighed. "Go to sleep. You need rest, after today."

She watched the young mouse walk obediently over to his bedroll and curl up there, the sword of Martin laid on the ground, carelessly out of his immediate reach. Mariel shook her head once more and wondered, again, why Martin had chosen, out of all the creatures of Redwall, Saxtus.


	5. Reason

**A quick little note: **For one thing, yes, I am going to keep updating the MMSS. This just begged to be written. When inspiration hits my muse, she doesn't shut up about it for quite a while and becomes rather single-minded. Itches must be scratched in the order of severity.

Anyhow, what I'm getting around to saying is actually this: I discovered a prompt system using music as inspiration. Basically, you open up your Media player's list of songs, set it on random shuffle, and play a song. For the duration of that song, you write. You do not continue writing past the ending of the song except to wrap up a sentence quickly if necessary.

I started up the random shuffle with nothing particular in mind. Then this song hit me with the thought of Martin and Rose, meeting in the afterlife. I had to back the song up to beginning again and write this. And I admit, I cheated on one count. I may have had a little over four minutes to write, but it's a lot harder to write something that makes sense when half of you is listening to the lyrics of a song than what you might expect. So after the song finished, I went back and fleshed out a few pieces or re-arranged them to be a little more logical. I swear to you, though, the skeleton of this was finished when the song was.

It might come out a little odd: I'm not a very sentimental, romantic, mushy-huggy-kissy sort of person. Plus I am trying to match as well as I can the lyrics of the song to the actions in this very short piece as they go. However, I did my best. Let me know your take on it, okay?

Without further ado…

* * *

**Word Count:** 315

**Category: **Supernatural/Romance?

**Song: **_Back to a Reason, Pt. 2,_ Trans-Siberian Orchestra (Album: The Lost Christmas Eve)

**Reason**

Rose stood alone in the darkness, waiting and watching. Remembering, or trying to. She looked back through time even as she looked down upon a beautiful, though still only partially-constructed building below. Both memory and vision were blurred to her eyes, half-real, half-dream.

Inside that building there was a room, and in that room, laying on a bed, old and tired, was a mouse. He had lain on that bed for days, surrounded by other creatures and silence. Rose watched him there, even as she had done for years.

And years…

It had been so long. So long.

Rose barely remembered why she watched him. His name was lost in her mind, somewhere in the dark that created this place. But when he laughed, she laughed. Whenever he was hurt, she felt an unreal echo of pain. When he cried, Rose couldn't keep tears from her own eyes.

They were connected. Rose could barely recall why, only that he was there when she left that world. He was nearby. She had died for him. Bled for him. And she had wanted to, if it meant he could go on.

Time had passed on and on. In this strange place, memory meant little against the sheer weight of the years themselves. Now she couldn't even recall the mouse's name, only that it had once meant so much to her.

Rose watched, looking for a reason to go on waiting as Time passed over her like a river.

Until, one day, he slipped away from the dream-like visions she had of that red-pink stoned Abbey. Closer to her he fell, growing brighter, clearer.

Rose only watched as he solidified before her. Her watching was over. Why had she waited? She couldn't quite recall, but there was something.

He seemed younger now. And he looked at her with surprise. Familiarity.

Warmth?

Love?

He reminded her of…she remembered…

"Martin?"


	6. Pieces of Existence

**50 Sentences challenge – set Epsilon**

**Character: **Martin the Warrior

**Word Count:** 1,535 (Not including Theme Words)

**Category: **General

* * *

**1: Motion  
**Every time somebeast asked for a sword demonstration, Martin had to wonder what was so appealing about the motions of a tool for which the only use was killing.

**2: Cool  
**His transparent brow furrowed with puzzlement as he tried to figure out just how these young beasts managed to make a connection between his legend and a quality of temperature.

**3: Young  
**Age matters little: anybeast, young or old, can be a coward, a hero, or a fool – sometimes all three at once, even.

**4: Last  
**Ironic that the warrior, the one who set himself most often in danger's path, would be among the last of his generation to walk the path to the Dark Forest.

**5: Wrong  
**Some beasts thought he clung to Rose's memory and therefore avoided other mousemaids – they were wrong, as he had simply never met another who made him feel the same way he had back then.

**6: Gentle  
**"You have taught your paws to be gentle, Martin," the Abbess said solemnly, "and you have a kind heart, but never let that fire in your spirit burn out – I hope against it, but there still may come a day when we need a true warrior to defend us again."

**7: One  
**All it took was one fool-headed hedgehog messing with a wire-rimmed kite in a thunderstorm, and Martin knew the Abbey – already so changed by years of new ideas and inventions – would never be quite the same again.

**8: Thousand  
**After the first thousand years, Martin's spirit began to feel vaguely tired, but Redwall still needed him, and so he kept on watching over it.

**9: King  
**The knowledge that he could easily claim a Kingship over Mossflower terrified Martin, and yet that terror also comforted him, for he knew that this reaction was one thing that set him apart from Badrang, Tsarmina, and their ilk.

**10: Learn  
**"No, Gonff, I don't have Columbine's carrot cake recipe memorized – and why is it important anyway?"

**11: Blur  
**Things were certainly very pretty underwater, just as the otters said, but he preferred the sharp clarity of a sunny day on land.

**12: Wait  
**As they grew older, Martin and Gonff became fond of morning walks, and though Martin never slowed his pace, he made it a point to wait for his friend every time the path changed direction.

**13: Change  
**Gonff's snickers filled the room as Martin curiously examined the silver streaks in his fur which, he swore, must have sprouted overnight.

**14: Command  
**Nobeast could truly order Martin around, but he often complied if asked nicely or by a friend.

**15: Hold  
**With every stone block he helped lay for the new Abbey, Martin felt the place's hold on him tighten, until one day he realized with sudden clarity that he would remain in Redwall until his very death – and in the same instant, he realized that this was not such a bad thing.

**16: Need  
**A spirit feels no hunger or thirst, but _hellgates_ if Martin didn't miss the feel of an apple between his teeth or the taste of damson wine.

**17: Vision  
**He supposed he could try to make his messages clearer, but warriors must learn on their own – he certainly hadn't benefitted by his father simply handing him that sword and instructions to care for the remnants of his family.

**18: Attention  
**His earliest memory is simply that of his father's sword catching and reflecting light, and an already keen yearning to catch hold of that light himself.

**19: Soul  
**Once, after death, he found Abbess Germaine and asked her why _he_ had been chosen as the spirit of Redwall – her answer had been simply that the Abbey was built for peace, but a warrior's soul was needed to preserve it.

**20: Picture  
**Martin still wasn't sure what had made him agree to allow an image of himself to be woven into a tapestry.

**21: Fool  
**He considers himself a fool for allowing Rose to come at that last battle, but might it have been more foolish to try and stop her?

**22: Mad  
**Lately, more and more of his time guiding his chosen warriors seemed to be spent convincing them that they had not succumbed to madness.

**23: Child  
**In unguarded moments around others' dibbuns, he imagines a young one of his own and it has her eyes and laugh.

**24: Now  
**_Was I this impatient when I was young?_ Martin wondered as Gonflet begged him to eat faster and join the dibbuns in their games.

**25: Shadow  
**Martin's shadow never looked more _right_ than when the sinking sun pressed it taller than life against the half-finished abbey walls.

**26: Goodbye  
**Perhaps because of the long lives they had lived, somehow saying his last goodbye to his best friend was easier than he ever could have imagined.

**27: Hide  
**It was bedtime for the young ones of the half-finished Abbey, and as always, this meant seeking out each and every one from various hidey-holes, but Martin almost enjoyed these little games of hide-and-seek at the end of the day.

**28: Fortune  
**Before every battle he fought, he had to wonder briefly when his luck would run out; after every year he lived, he had to wonder briefly if it ever would.

**29: Safe  
**Martin wanted very much to be brave like his father, but something about thunderstorms drove the little mousebabe to the safety of his mother's arms again and again.

**30: Ghost  
**It may have been childish and somewhat petty, but driving warlords to wet themselves in their dreams was one of the most enjoyable tasks he took upon himself as the defending spirit of Redwall.

**31: Book  
**Having spent most of his life as a slave, and the few years before that a small part of a small tribe, it was little surprise that the first book he ever opened was read well after he reached middle adulthood.

**32: Eye  
**He remembered using his father's sword to hack at driftwood; it was a wonder he could still see.

**33: Never  
**Martin was banned for eternity from the kitchens after an incident involving covered dishes, a salad that was not meant to see the inside of an oven, and a berry pie that was supposed to but didn't.

**34: Sing  
**He did once, during a small celebration, and could only laugh when a young shrew tugged his sleeve afterward and said, "Please, don't again."

**35: Sudden  
**Martin looked up the steep sides of the (relatively shallow) pit he had fallen into and realized he needed to have a talk with a certain mousethief about what could be considered a 'good' practical joke.

**36: Stop  
**"Burr, oo, thank'ee fer stoppin' moi fall, Martin zurr – bless 'ee, yore all gaspin' an' wriggly loik a fish – oi di'nt land on 'ee too 'ard, did oi, zurr?"

**37: Time  
**The years themselves work against him, but Martin strives to remember everybeast who made him who he has become.

**38: Wash  
**Though working on the construction of the Abbey was long, hard, hot work, Martin never envied the task of forcing the dibbuns to bathe.

**39: Torn  
**"That one came a little close," he muttered to himself, examining a fresh tear in his cloak and shaking his head, "Dark Forest take it all, I _hate_ mending!"

**40: History  
**Would anything happen when it finally became so distant as to forget him?

**41: Power  
**Luke the Warrior trains with his sword in the early morning, and little Martin watches and can only wish that, someday, he will swing and thrust that same sword with the same grace and power.

**42: Bother  
**He hated getting sick enough to require somebeast else's time and care.

**43: God  
**He could blame nothing but fate for the sorrows in his life; he could thank nothing but fortune for the joys.

**44: Wall  
**He stood like a wall of solid stone in his life, sheltering and protecting others, so it was somewhat fitting that his spirit eventually traded that soft-strong, fragile-hard, breathing-dying body for another of red sandstone and mortar.

**45: Naked  
**Tsarmina broke his father's sword and, in that instant, Martin could not have felt more exposed if she'd had all the fur shaved from his body.

**46: Drive  
**His reasons for fighting have changed so much – when he was young, it was a desire to follow in his father's pawsteps that pressed him onward, and then a longing for freedom, first from slavery and then from the pain of Rose's death, and now…now he wants nothing more than to protect all the good creatures of Mossflower he possibly can.

**47: Harm  
**Years of struggling to use sword, paws, and sometimes claws to harm his foes could not prepare him for how easy it was to hurt a friend using nothing but a hasty word.

**48: Precious  
**Few things could make Martin's heart soar higher than building bark sleds and sending the fledgling Abbey's greatest treasures shrieking and laughing down snowy hillsides on them.

**49: Hunger  
**The harvest had been poor, and the winter hard, but Martin still often managed to give a crust of bread or a dried apple from his rations to other, smaller, weaker beasts; he could bear the hunger.

**50: Believe  
**Martin thought of _her_ as he looked at the sky and all he could do was believe that a day would come when he would leave this world and maybe – just maybe – he would see her again.

* * *

_A/N: Well, that was fun._

_The challenge, for those who don't know, is to take a set of fifty themes and one character (or one pairing of characters) from a fandom and write ONE sentence for each theme. It can be very difficult to keep your entire story/situation/idea down to one sentence. I tell you, hyphens and semicolons are your friends in this sort of challenge._

_I found the challenge in a LiveJournal. Now, I am not a member of LJ or anything, so I probably broke some rule somewhere by picking this list of themes up and writing these…but, hey, are we not all breaking some rules by writing fanfiction in the first place?_

_So, altered disclaimer here:_

I do not own, did not help create, and did not gain express permission to write about Redwall or any characters or settings therein. I do not own, did not help create, and did not gain express permission to use the 50 sentences challenge theme set Epsilon. This is for my own entertainment and the entertainment of others. I'm not making money, I'm not directly plagiarizing parts of published books, and I am (hopefully) not destroying/disrespecting anything with my creation. So, please don't sue me, shout at me, or attack me with rusted sporks, for in the case of the first I shall be helpless, in the second I shall be sad, and in the third I shall be forced to fight back, which could get nasty for the both of us.

_Okay. That's done._

_It is after midnight here. I have been working on this for most of tonight. I should stop typing now, as I am tired and therefore likely to ramble._

_Well, let me know what you think?_

_Suilaid,  
__Oreramar_


	7. Fragments of Life

50 Sentences – set Gamma

**Character: **Matthias  
**Words: **1,334  
**Genre: **General

* * *

**1: Ring  
**Matthias hears a bell ringing and can't help but wonder if dropping the Joseph bell on Cluny was the right thing, the honorable thing, to do.

**2: Hero  
**The only title he claimed was "Warrior of Redwall," but creatures still insisted on tacking another one on him.

**3: Memory  
**Let aging make him bedridden, he thought, but don't let it take away his memories.

**4: Box  
**"Next feast day, I say we shut Basil up in a crate and let him out only _after _the rest of us have gotten to the pies."

**5: Run  
**One day, it occurred to Matthias that catching his son in a race around the orchard had gotten a lot harder in the last few years.

**6: Hurricane  
**Matthias honestly tried to help with Spring Cleaning, but every year he seemed to turn most of his energy and concentration toward keeping out of the path of Cornflower's mad, spinning dance around the house.

**7: Wings  
**Matthias felt it was neither fair nor right that Warbeak, a queen of the sky, should die on the ground...but since when was war fair and right?

**8: Cold  
**What did a winter storm matter when you could huddle in front of the fireplace with your family?

**9: Red  
**Cornflower made him a red tunic for feasts and celebrations – to match the pommel in his sword – but he really preferred green.

**10: Drink  
**Matthias had long ceased being amazed when Basil demonstrated his ability to chug half a barrel of fizzy drink in one sitting.

**11: Midnight  
**Now that he was an adult, Matthias was certain that Constance knew all about those midnight snacks, and that he and his dibbunhood friends were not as sneaky or as clever as they had thought themselves to be.

**12: Temptation  
**Matthias swallowed wistfully, chin on the table and eyes on the row of small cakes that Cornflower had left to cool with strict instructions _not to touch_.

**13: View  
**"I know you're upset, but have you ever thought about looking at it from their point of – Mattimeo, are you even listening to me?"

**14: Music  
**Cornflower sang Mattimeo to sleep each night as Matthias stood in the doorway and watched and thought that this may be all he would ever need to be happy.

**15: Silk  
**The strange cloth that the travelling merchant carried was pretty in a way, Matthias thought, but not strong or lasting enough to be truly beautiful.

**16: Cover  
**In some cases, it was all right to hide from the world for a while under a cocoon of quilts.

**17: Promise  
**It seemed that some of the dibbuns believed that Matthias' promise to defend the Abbey from evil also extended to defending them from Constance and bathtime.

**18: Dream  
**Once he caught sight of an armored mouse smiling kindly at him, but then everything changed to a purple otter swimming after a tiny guppy in the middle of the Great Hall and Matthias thought that either Martin had a strange sense of humor or it was only a dream after all.

**19: Candle  
**He burned his paw on the first candle he ever held, but even that didn't stop him from picking up a yellow stick of wax the next time it was allowed.

**20: Talent  
**He hadn't ever known about his knack for juggling until Basil introduced it to him as a game.

**21: Silence  
**He never longed for a quiet night more than during Mattimeo's first few months of life.

**22: Journey  
**The danger of his adventures on the road utterly ruined long trips for Matthias; any amount of time on a journey inevitably made him jumpy, even when their only goal was a family trip to visit their friends at Salamandastron.

**23: Fire  
**Matthias blinked through the smoke, whiskers and fur singed black, and wondered just which addle-brained creature had left an entire barrel of brewed drink beside the bonfire.

**24: Strength  
**He had given his entire being to his family and the Abbey, and it made his heart simultaneously ache and soar to know that the source of his strength was the same as the source of his vulnerability.

**25: Mask  
**He hated dishonesty, but sometimes being the Abbey warrior meant he _had _to hide things.

**26: Ice  
**Being a warrior had meant fighting and killing in the past and possibly in the future, but Matthias knew better than to wish he didn't have to feel bad about it, because a cold heart was too steep a price to pay for the ending of guilt and occasional nightmares.

**27: Fall  
**He made sure he never lost his enjoyment of jumping in autumn leaf piles, and he made sure to teach this simple joy to his family as well.

**28: Forgotten  
**_I don't remember math being this hard_, Matthias thought as he tried to help his son with his lessons.

**29: Dance  
**He'd read accounts of other warriors describing battle as a dance – Matthias thought they were wrong, because dancing was far more enjoyable.

**30: Body  
**Matthias never tried to look too hard at the creatures he killed.

**31: Sacred  
**"This sword, like the Abbey, is more important than you or I, Mattimeo; take the best care of it."

**32: Farewells  
**He always tried his hardest to cancel out the longing of a _goodbye_ with the joy of a _welcome home._

**33: World  
**Matthias hadn't known the world was so big until that day he finally stepped outside of the protective red walls of his home.

**34: Formal  
**Barely a moment after Matthias dropped to his knees, two attentive Abbey creatures rushed forward, seized his arms, and bustled him up to the Infirmary over his protests; at that moment, Matthias decided to propose to Cornflower in either a less public or a more casual manner.

**35: Fever  
**"Th' Abbey'd bedder nod ged addacked t'day," Matthias muttered darkly around the thermometer Cornflower had stuck in his mouth.

**36: Laugh  
**It wasn't rare for Matthias and Basil to laugh so hard and so long that they forgot what they were laughing at in the first place – and the realization did nothing but make them laugh longer still.

**37: Lies  
**He could eventually forgive an untruth born of fear, but lies from malice or ulterior motives at their roots could not be excused.

**38: Forever  
**Only dibbuns and fools made promises "forever and ever," but that didn't stop him from meaning it as much as he could.

**39: Overwhelmed  
**Matthias had always known it could, probably would, happen, but he still fainted when Cornflower announced the upcoming birth of their child.

**40: Whisper  
**He learned young that a whispered secret was the most important of all, and therefore the most likely sort to be spread about as gossip.

**41: Wait  
**"Take your time," he whispered to Cornflower, feeling his strength drifting away, "I can wait for you forever."

**42: Talk  
**Sometimes he had to let his sword talk for him, and he hated it and loved it and hated that he loved it.

**43: Search  
**_"Coooooornfloweeeeeeeer! _Where did you put my sword?!"

**44: Hope  
**Like his heartbeat, it never stopped throbbing in his chest, but it still surprised him sometimes when he actually took notice of it.

**45: Eclipse  
**The solar eclipse was as amazing as expected, but it made him feel oddly sleepy.

**46: Gravity  
**He hadn't managed to fix the leak in the roof yet, but at least he'd made certain that gravity was still working.

**47: Highway  
**His grandchild once asked if he missed travelling on quests, and he replied, "I miss my adventures now that I'm home, but not as much as I missed home when I was on my adventures."

**48: Unknown  
**He didn't know just what Basil had put in his specially-made pie, and as he watched the hare stop eating halfway through it and just start pushing it around in the dish, he decided that he really didn't want to know.

**49: Lock  
**"By Martin, Basil, I was joking about the box thing; now open this door!"

**50: Breathe  
**Matthias looked at the otters playing in the Abbey pond and thought that the nicest thing about being on land was that you never had to stop just to breathe…unless you wanted to, of course.

* * *

_A/N: I had not originally planned to do another 50 sentences challenge, but it was requested specifically by _**warriorofredwall**_, so I did it. 50 Sentences for Matthias, set throughout his life. The hardest part was creating a distinction between his thoughts and Martin's, as he's supposedly Martin reincarnate.  
For future reference for all my readers: fun and challenging as these are, I do not intend to turn Footnotes into a collection of these things. Please do not request another one of any character. If you feel you absolutely must have 50 sentences of Laterose, or Trisscar, or Sunflash the Mace, perhaps you could give it a try? Go on. I dare you. Stretch those wings and write. :)_

_Well, until next time. Bye!_


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